


Swarfcapades

by DinobotGlitch



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Affection, Experimental Drug Use, Frottage, Heavy Petting, Intoxication, Kissing, M/M, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Coital Cuddling, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-02 00:52:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10205069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DinobotGlitch/pseuds/DinobotGlitch
Summary: Ultra Magnus has an Experience with recreational drugs. Please mind the tags!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a fun little fic inspired by some people on my Discord channel! We had such a good time talking about it that I couldn't help myself lol. I have no self-control and I regret nothing.

The first time Ultra Magnus tries Swerve’s special brownies, he has no idea what they are or what they are about to do to him. Rodimus is the one that pushes one into his hand the minute he walks into Swerve’s establishment, and as weird as it sounds to some, he trusts Rodimus, so he eats it without thinking. Just the one, mind; he rejects the offer of another from Drift a few minutes later. Instead, he goes to get a cube of regular energon from the bar because although the little treat had been good, there is no need to become gluttonous.

He takes a seat next to Rodimus after he’s got his drink. Rodimus, who is ever-so-happy to tell him about his “latest and greatest” plan for the next leg of their trip. Ultra Magnus tunes most of it out when he realizes that his captain is literally just pulling stuff out of his exhaust that could not possibly hold water in reality - not even with Brainstorm’s dubious help. 

For a while, everything is good. The bar’s patrons are unusually mellow; everyone is talking and laughing, eating and drinking. There is no conflict. 

‘Good,’ he thinks. ‘We could use some more peace around here.’

He is observing a very interesting interaction between Cyclonus and Whirl when he realizes that all of his threat assessments are offline. No, not offline - nonexistent. Cyclonus and Whirl are not a threat, not to each other or anyone else. How could this be? He ponders it, but finds he isn’t too bothered. Why would he be distressed over the fact that they were not going to be a problem? 

He watches Tailgate giggle when Cyclonus kisses Whirl’s mono-opticked face and actually finds it amusing. This realization is similarly acknowledged and dismissed as irrelevant to his current being. He feels too good about life in general to be concerned with benign observations.

There are similar exchanges going on around the room though, he discovers after more time has passed. As he empties one drink and waves to Swerve for another, he sees that all around the bar, there is a sort of tranquility permeating the air, a casual intimacy that makes even one such as him feel good and welcome to be there.

It isn’t until Rodimus presses against his arm to whisper, “Mags, you’re slipping out of your seat,” that he realizes his whole body has indeed begun to slouch. The Magnus Armor is creaking strangely at the unusual position, but it still takes a lot of effort to push himself upright again. He almost doesn’t make it, as his entire chassis feels pleasantly weighted down, grounded. Should he be bothered by that? He isn’t. Even if he was, Ratchet is only a table over, sipping from a tall glass and chatting with Rung. Both of them could confirm his good health if he thought it necessary.

Instead of worrying, Ultra Magnus lets this strange calm consume him utterly. He has never felt such peace - not before the war, not during it, and especially not in the aftermath. But now, there are no worries, no fears. There is only his energon and the gentle press of several bodies that find their way near him to enjoy his massive frame’s warmth as he slouches back in the seat again and stays there.

He later remembers the rest of the evening like one would recall a fond memory. Slightly fuzzy, but full of warmth and contentment. There is a distinct recollection of Swerve looking briefly panicked when they make optic contact after Pipes (the fourth person to find his heat appealing, right after Rodimus, Drift, and Tailgate) crawls into his lap, but it passes quickly when Skids whispers something in the red and white mech’s audio receptor. It is strange, but Ultra Magnus decides it isn’t important enough to dwell on.

* * *

The second time Ultra Magnus tries Swerve’s special brownies, he actually ends up eating four of them. If one leaves him feeling calm and relaxed and receptive to the affection that many others obviously desire to give him, then how much better will more make him feel?

He gets his answer about an hour after his arrival, and he’s not sure he likes it.

In all fairness, he thinks dazedly, it started out in much the same way as his initial experience. After ingesting one brownie, he had gone to get a drink and find a seat with Rodimus. He had had every intention of giving the first one time to sink in before seeking out more! But then Swerve’s little server drone had come by with a whole plate of the little morsels and he just hadn’t been able to help himself. He had swiped three more and downed them in quick succession before anyone could notice or stop him. There were no immediate side-effects, and he was a little disappointed that there was no noticeable difference in the speed or intensity of the effects of what he now was fairly sure was some kind of drug.

Same as before, his body became loose and comfortable so gradually as to be unnoticeable to most. All of those troublesome warnings wavered and disappeared one by one, and he acquired Drift and Rodimus, who seemed to find his warmth irresistible. After that?

Well, things got… weird.

Somewhere in between one sentence and the next, Ultra Magnus became incapable of discerning anything that his two companions were saying to each other or to him. He could see their mouths moving, but all he heard was garbled static feedback. The whole world slowed down, his spark’s rhythmic beat pounded in his audio receptors, and worst of all, all at once, he was _ravenous_. How long ago had he eaten those brownies? How long ago had he finished his energon?

Drift and Rodimus make no protest when he scoots them into the seat next to his, for which he is strangely glad. He needs something to eat, _badly_. He needs to relax. He needs… he needs-!

He’s stumbling across the room in some kind of delirium induced haze before he can consciously decide anything; there are hands everywhere supporting him as he goes, until at last he finds Swerve. Swerve has a tray full of glasses and snacks and all manner of tasty looking things. Ultra Magnus eyes them voraciously and attempts to speak, or gesture, or anything that can convey his absolute _need_ to shove fuel into his face immediately without preamble. Something he does must get across to the minibot, because suddenly there’s a large bowl of crunchy, glittery clusters being pressed into his hands and then Swerve is pushing him and his new burden down onto a barstool. He feels himself shake with overwhelming gratitude at the minibot’s kindness, but has no idea how to make his mouth work to tell him so, so he just stares helplessly until Swerve pats his arm and smiles. 

He is left alone after that, so the officer delves into the bowl at last. The explosion of taste that hits his glossa is damn near euphoric!

Swerve comes by every so often, bearing fuel and drink and checking on everyone in the room. He’s not the only one, Ultra Magnus knows, but he’s the only one that Ultra Magnus sees. Swerve takes care of him and Ultra Magnus is grateful for it, but vows afterward to never need such care be taken of him again.

* * *

The third time Ultra Magnus tries Swerve’s special brownies, he is almost completely certain that the effect he desires only requires that he ingest two. He has done his research on their key ingredient (a mild mind-altering substance called swarf, a term that he lowkey thinks that Swerve himself coined) and is fully prepared to use their powers responsibly this time.

The first one, he eats for the calm that settles over his mind. After it has fully settled in, he lets Drift and Rodimus crawl into his lap, as usual, and he hugs them both close to feel their little engines purr against him. It is nice and good and warm, because his mind, though quite lucid, has once again quieted down from its incessant need to have everything be perfectly orderly and professional. He doesn’t worry, at least not actively. He even probably smiles a little bit when people start wolf-whistling at Chromedome and Rewind because they have decided to turn in suspiciously early.

The second one, Ultra Magnus plans to eat about three hours after the first; when the time comes, he leaves his two companions to each other’s company and makes his way to the counter to collect it, feeling simultaneously excited and slightly nervous. He is almost certain that he will not have to endure the severe side-effects of over-stimulation from two properly spaced out treats, but as the saying goes, “Once bitten, twice shy.” However, the only way to know for sure is to give it a try, and he is eager to know his limitations. If nothing else, he consoles himself, it cannot possibly be as bad as the last time.

Swerve must remember his last botched foray into this soft, quiet world, too, for he endeavors to make quite sure Ultra Magnus has not already overindulged again before he will hand over the requested morsel.

Ultra Magnus assures Swerve that he only has need of two this time. He tells him that the last time was a result of him becoming overzealous; it was a mistake that would not be repeated. Swerve scoots the plate across the counter and smiles ever so sweetly at him as he eats takes one, apparently mollified by his answer. That smile warms the blue and white mech’s spark and his cheeks alike, but Ultra Magnus doesn’t say anything to draw attention to either as he preemptively orders something to eat and then returns to his seat once his arms are laden with goodies.

The second brownie makes him hungry, just as he anticipated, and so he snacks; mindless, oblivious, content in a way he has never really experienced before. 

The desperation from before is not present; there is nothing clawing at the inside of his spark casing in a ravenous rage that begs to be quelled. There are only little crunchy things and square gels and, at one point, a handful of iridescent orb candies that all make their way into Ultra Magnus’s mouth and down the hatch. Each one tastes better than the last - it is little wonder that he cannot help himself as he picks at anything edible within arm’s reach.

All of his treats are gone before he knows it though, and Ultra Magnus is left to stare sadly at his empty dishes for a while, until at last the bright idea to get more occurs to him. Thankfully, the task of finding more is made quite easy because the night has grown old during his distraction, and the bar is nearly empty. Even Rodimus, who consistently stays at the bar until close to closing time, has turned in for the night. When had that happened? He knows not, and leaves it that way with a shrug. 

Swerve is the only person in his immediate vicinity, with a wash rag in one hand and a couple of small vases overflowing with fake flowers balanced carefully in the other. Swerve, of the wonderful brownies and the abundant snacks and the cute little smile and far too much sadness. Ultra Magnus feels his spark pulse heavily when the minibot looks up and catches his optic, and experiences the strangest of compulsions: he desires to go over and do… something. It’s such a foreign concept that he isn’t even sure _what_ at first, but then Swerve smiles at him and Ultra Magnus knows. 

He’s not hungry for fuel anymore.

He approaches the minibot with careful, deliberate steps and is pleased when Swerve looks up at him with that same guileless smile and asks what he needs. There is some hoarseness, but no hesitation in his answer:

“You.”


	2. Chapter 2

Given that the events leading up to this moment had taken place in his establishment, it was only natural that Swerve was well aware of Ultra Magnus at his most recent get-togethers. It was hard to miss a large, imposing mech with a penchant for strict law enforcement showing up to a party with some highly questionable substances present, after all- and yet Ultra Magnus never gave him any grief. Not even a little citation! In reality, Ultra Magnus seemed neither wary nor upset, strangely enough. There had been a couple of times where Swerve had thought for sure that he would be living the rest of his life in the ship’s brig after he realized that the SIC had ingested his special treats, but nothing had come of his fears.

Instead, he had been treated to the rare sight of Ultra Magnus relaxed - even happy, if he dared to apply such a contextually blasphemous term to the mech! He smiled, he embraced his companions openly, let them crawl all over him and pet his cheeks and hold his hands and- Swerve was getting sidetracked. He didn’t need to be thinking about that because it would only bring on a slew of feelings he was ill-equipped to handle presently.

He had finally dared to relax when Ultra Magnus showed up a third time, just as calm as you please, and made it clear that he was intent only on having a good time - responsibly, as evidenced by his willingness to explain each detail of his plan when prompted. Swerve had no doubts left about the blue and white mech knowing exactly what he was getting into after that. 

Still, he had thought that would be the extent of their relations. He had provided a service, and Ultra Magnus was respectful enough to ensure he was comfortable doing so. He didn’t mind; seeing his crewmates - his friends - happy was its own reward. He didn’t need any special attention from them, nor did he expect it when Ultra Magnus approached him toward the end of that evening.

Swerve was quick to fixate a smile on his face and ask what Ultra Magnus needed, but he never could have predicted the answer he got.

In the span between one ventilation and the next, Ultra Magnus responds, “You,” and that single word, crystal clear in both enunciation and intent, brings Swerve up short. He had expected- well, he had expected any number of other things, but not this. Not… not this.

“I’m sorry?” he says, praying that Ultra Magnus will correct what is obviously a mistake, some mental mix-up from the swarf, or too much work in general, or-

“You. I want you.” There is something inscrutable in Ultra Magnus’s expression. He nods to himself. “Immediately.”

Swerve wonders if it’s possible for a spark to physically break loose of its chamber without outside intervention, because that’s what he feels is happening to him right now. There is no way that Ultra Magnus means it, except that he is staring at Swerve quite expectantly, waiting for an answer that Swerve isn’t sure he can give. Mechs _never_ said that kind of stuff to him. And yet, here is Ultra Magnus, doing exactly that.

He decides to ask the least offensive question he can think of, just in case this is not some kind of strange hallucination.

“For what?”

This is not the response Ultra Magnus expects, apparently, for the mech pauses for a long moment to assimilate his next answer. Swerve finds the look of concentration on his normally stern faceplates to be ridiculously endearing, and that drops his guard some.

“To fulfill my desire to express affection for you,” Ultra Magnus settles for, as if that explains everything. His big hands are folded comfortably together over his torso, and his field is nothing but soft warmth and hope as he waits for Swerve to answer.

Swerve takes his time with it, too. He empties his hands and wipes them carefully on the dry cloth that hangs over his shoulder. He drags blessedly cool air in through his vents deeply a couple of times- exhales just as much. Ultra Magnus stands before him, an undeniable force of nature condensed into the cage of a loadbearer’s spark that is wrapped up inside the suit of a titan, and waits patiently. Swerve is certain that he’ll wait all night if he has to. 

Does he want to accept something like that? Does he want Magnus to ‘express affection’ for him? Perhaps more importantly, what brought this on so suddenly?

He has no answers to the last question, but he knows the answer to the two before it. He resigns himself to some potentially awkward conversation and the very real possibility of making an absolute fool of himself.

“I…”

His optics flick to the side, nervous and hyper-aware of his surroundings. Not just of Ultra Magnus standing before him, but of the few other people still in the room, and Ten watching them both as if waiting for a sign from Swerve to come save him. It makes him feel a little woozy, in all honesty, but he forges onward.

“What did you have in mind? I mean, I can’t really leave the bar right now. I haven’t finished cleaning up.”

Ultra Magnus nods, and there is a seriousness in his gaze that at once unnerves and excites Swerve. He is so rarely the focus of someone’s attention, and everything about the larger mech’s body language says that this could be some really nice attention. 

“I would like to embrace you in a platonic but potentially romantic fashion,” Ultra Magnus says, and it’s the most honest and straightforward and sweet request to cuddle that Swerve has ever heard. He both loves and loathes how it makes his spark blossom like a tiny little supernova in his chest, but he’s mostly just glad that that’s all the mech seems to want from him. He wouldn’t know what to do with more than that right now!

“Immediately?” Swerve asks, sounding almost playful if not for the ingrained wariness of accepting attention. At least his tone isn’t betraying his internal monologue to the mech before him.

Ultra Magnus smiles, always an unusual but wonderful sight. “Immediately. There is a couch suitable for this act located nearby.”

Swerve wonders if Ultra Magnus realizes who he’s talking to, but then the minibot remembers who _he’s_ talking to, so he simply nods and puts his cleaning cloths aside. He has no reason to refuse, and no reason to delay, nor does he want one; the last of his customers are departing at Ten’s gentle but insistent request, anyway, none the wiser to his and Ultra Magnus’s conversation.

“Okay. Um. Lead the way?”

Ultra Magnus does, choosing the closest couch and settling upon it gracefully before offering a hand to Swerve, and Swerve feels very overwhelmed when, upon taking it, he is pulled right into Ultra Magnus’s lap and wrapped up in big, strong arms. Just those are enough to completely encapsulate him - their size difference plainly apparent - but it’s the _feel_ of the Magnus Armor, so warm and solid beneath and around him, and the gentle press of an open, inviting field that has Swerve melting into the contact with a sigh. He’s pretty sure this qualifies as a hug, and he’s always been a big fan of hugs. Especially hugs from bigger mechs, and there’s next to no one on the Lost Light bigger than Ultra Magnus.

Cautiously, he puts his arms around as much of Ultra Magnus’s middle as he can in return, and is rewarded with a pleased rumble that he feels with his entire chassis. This was not how he envisioned his night going, but he’s so, _so_ far from complaining… Cleaning the bar is suddenly far from his mind, and he is happy to stay like this for the rest of the night if the other mech allows it.

He almost thinks Ultra Magnus has slipped into recharge just as they are, content at last with his own personal teddy bear and a soft seat to sink into, when the mech speaks softly from above his helm, asking, “Would it be permissible for me to kiss you as well? I am unsure of the etiquette of these parties you host, but I would quite like to kiss you.”

Swerve wonders if maybe he is in recharge instead, but the thud of his spark in his chest tells him he’s not. Which would be worse? He doesn’t know, but he does know that suddenly his vocalizer is in overdrive as he looks up at Magnus to gauge his mental state and stutters over his answer.

“Well, I mean, there’s not really an etiquette to follow? You show up, you have a good time, you go home, that’s all, right? I don’t really have any rules for kissing since nobody wants to kiss me anyway, haha, so like there’s nothing really to make a rule about! If you wanted to- I mean, of course you want to, you asked- oh, no, sorry, that sounds so pretentious, doesn’t it? I’m sorry, that probably completely killed the mood, so even though I want you to kiss me, now you definitely won’t and I-”

There are more words, he is sure there are more words, but they’re muffled by Ultra Magnus’s mouth, which is against his own and moving softly. Swerve shuts his mouth but doesn’t know what to do next. He doesn’t even know the last time he kissed someone, he was going to mess it up-

But Magnus is there, gentle but firm, guiding him without being asked to, and when did the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord learn to kiss so well? Pit, when did he learn to kiss at all? When did the law have time for makeout sessions?

… Aside from right now, that is.

Swerve sighs into it and lets Ultra Magnus control everything, and decides he can panic later. If there’s even a reason to panic at all, because he’s sure if Magnus kisses him much longer he’s going to just die of happiness… That doesn’t end up happening, but it’s a close thing. He isn’t even sure of how long they kiss, only that he’s dizzy with the sensation of it when Ultra Magnus finally draws back to smile at him.

“I think,” Ultra Magnus says, and his voice is rough and staticky and beautiful, “that we should stop there for tonight. It is late and I am sure you are tired.”

That was true, but Swerve would be happy with just kissing some more instead! But reality crept in and he knew he still had to clean, so maybe it was for the best anyway?

“Right, and I still have to finish getting this place in shape for tomorrow, so…”

“Leave it for tonight. I’ll come help you clean in the morning… if that’s alright?” It’s the first time Swerve has ever seen Ultra Magnus unsure, and that more than anything makes him smile gratefully and nod his consent. Whatever change is happening between them, he’s prepared to happily accept it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go! The last part is just indulgent smut but I had to include it lol


	3. Chapter 3

It’s been awhile since the first time Ultra Magnus tried Swerve’s special brownies. He’s had them quite a few times now, and finds the recreational use of them to be well worth the time it takes away from their mission. Being able to relax - completely relax, not just slow down like he does when he’s hiding in the familiar comfort of reading reports - has proven to be extremely beneficial to his health and overall performance.

Tonight is, however, the first time that Ultra Magnus stays home and Minimus Ambus goes out to have a good time, and he intends to make it a memorable one.

The bar is alive with the dulcet murmur of mechs too happy to even look surprised by the rare sight of Minimus as he approaches enters and approaches Swerve at the counter.

Swerve only seems a little startled to see him in his irreducible form, but the surprise is quickly replaced by a smile.

“Your usual?” the red and white minibot asks. Minimus nods and thanks him when a brownie and a drink are handed over. There is no ping of withdrawn funds from his account, and Swerve’s blush speaks volumes. 

Minimus sits at the counter to enjoy his treat, optics firmly on Swerve as he moves about the bar and tends to his customers.

“Another busy night?” he asks the next time Swerve passes him. The other mech nods, chipper as ever as he pours two shots of a violently orange liquid into a shaker and adds a pinch of some kind of dust, which is then expertly mixed in and poured into a tall glass. Swerve starts the next drink, glancing over briefly, and his smile is gentle and intimate when he sees Minimus staring.

“It’s a good night. Everyone’s in such a good mood… I almost didn’t make the brownies because I didn’t wanna jinx it, you know? Haha, not that I think something this good could be jinxed but it’s better not to risk it…”

“That would have been a shame,” Minimus says earnestly, ignoring the statistics that rattle off in the back of his mind with ease. He enjoys the brownies immensely and while they aren’t all that he comes for, they are still something he definitely would not wish to miss out on. “I suppose it would have made it easier to drag you away for a couple of minutes though, if your bar wasn’t keeping you as busy as it does on these nights.”

That has Swerve’s attention in the span of a sparkbeat. His visor is bright and his cheeks are rosey with warmth as he processes the statement and its implications.

“Ah, well, I don’t know about that… I’m sure Bluestreak could handle the bar for a few minutes,” Swerve says quietly as he finishes the second drink and starts on a third. He’s trying not to look too hopeful, but fails epically. “Was there something you needed?”

Minimus holds Swerve’s gaze as he downs the last of his drink to wash down any remnants of his brownie and then answers very seriously, “You.”

The heat that sweeps Swerve’s entire frame is well worth embarrassment from the sober admission.

* * *

Swerve is quick to get them to the storage room behind the counter once he has everything in order out front, smiling shyly again when Minimus reaches out to take his hands and hold them tenderly the second they’re alone. He looks so giddy, so excited, that Minimus nearly forgets his manners as he leans in to steal a kiss. He hesitates at the last second, ruby optics flicking from pale lips to Swerve’s darkened visor as he asks, “May I?”

“Yes,” Swerve breathes, and it washes over him like a blessing as he surges forward and takes plump dermas with his own.

He feels Swerve’s nervous laugh and his own desire skyrockets when the kiss is returned with interest. Even without the haze of the brownie, Minimus feels warm and good as they move slowly but together, exploring each other anew. Their last kiss had been severely limited due to the Magnus Armor being so much bigger than Swerve’s compact chassis, so Minimus thinks he definitely likes this much better. When Swerve takes a step back, he pulls Minimus with him until they hit a wall with both hands and a playful nip on his hungrily questing lower lip. 

Minimus pins him there in retaliation, field flexing with something exciting that he can’t quite put to words just yet. Simultaneously, their hands let go of one another in order to touch warming frames instead, and from there it is all sensation. No fear or doubt can touch them as they explore each other, sharing pleasure freely until it is all they know.

Swerve is shy but receptive to his kisses when Minimus starts getting more aggressive, and there is no protest when he slides a thigh between the red and white mech’s legs to grind against his codpiece. Two hands come to rest on his aft, drawing him closer so that he can feel it when Swerve starts to rock slowly against him. He never realized how much he liked having his aft squeezed until right then, but he moans encouragingly so that Swerve will keep doing it all the same.

It isn’t long before neither of them can wait any longer; two codpieces spring open almost simultaneously, freeing aching spikes that slide against one another with almost sinfully good friction. Minimus is doubly glad that he left the Magnus Armor back in his habsuite - this would not have been nearly as simple otherwise.

He grasps their spikes in one hand and Swerve’s helm in the other, kissing him hungrily to muffle their moans as the first experimental stroke rocks them to their cores. He already feels close to losing it, but he’s determined to show Swerve a good time, so he smears their prefluids with a few swipes of his thumb, then strokes again. When Swerve bucks into it with a weak cry, he pulls the mech’s face to his neck instead, whispering for him to be quiet so they don’t get caught. Only a room away is nearly a quarter of the population of the Lost Light; the last thing they want is for all of them to play audience to this moment. Or worse, he thinks but doesn’t say, they could ruin it altogether. 

Swerve nods and begins mouthing at his neck, soft whimpers and sighs escaping as Minimus pins him harder to the wall and squeezes their spikes slowly from base to tip and back again. 

It’s like stoking a fire - each twist and pump of his wrist brings a wave of pleasure that compounds upon itself to pool a fire in his belly that lights his sensor net ablaze, and he knows that Swerve feels it to, for the mech is an open book. Soon, there is lubricant enough to slick their spikes completely so that they can thrust against one another to their own satisfaction. Soon, the room is awash with the heat that their frames are frantically dumping. Soon, Swerve is a mess, spike weeping prefluid into the palm of Minimus’s hand steadily, and Minimus isn’t much better, but he doesn’t care. He keeps Swerve pinned and gives him no quarter as he gasps a plea for mercy and then a curse in the same breath.

“Shhh,” he reminds, and Swerve moans in agonized pleasure as he recalls the mechs in the other room. Minimus reaches around to cup Swerve’s aft while he’s got the minibot distracted, pulling them hard together right as he thrusts into his own grip, and Swerve cries out helplessly at the relentless stimulation even as he grips Minimus’s aft harder and rolls his hips harshly. Once, twice, three times, and he throws his helm back as overload overtakes him, mouth open in a silent scream of ecstasy that is more beautiful than anything else that Minimus has seen in his long, long life.

He claims that same mouth for his own as he hikes Swerve’s thigh up over his hip and grinds into him, igniting all kinds of delicious sensors that damn near blow out his grid with the intensity of their charge dispersal a scant second later.

It’s an eternity later that they come down; Rodimus must really be rubbing off on him if he’s actually laughing at the word ‘come’, or maybe he’s just extra loopy from feeling so fragging good, but either way he doesn’t care. He kisses Swerve and is kissed in return as they sink to the floor with Swerve settling contentedly in his lap. Their exposed arrays rub together deliciously but there is no urge to surge together again. This is enough. This is good, right, perfect.

Swerve’s arms curl around his shoulders and their olfactory sensors rub together gently as they bask in the afterglow, half in recharge and at peace that even the end of the war couldn’t compete with. Even the swarf of a thousand brownies couldn’t be better than Swerve asking if they can have a repeat in his quarters, either. He won’t need a crutch to help take Swerve in hand again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this fun little experiment of mine! If you enjoyed it, please leave me a comment below. <3 For more information about my works, feel free to hit me up on tumblr (dinobotglitch) to chat or get a link to the community Discord server.


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